


A God Named Sin

by aquietkindofthunder



Series: The Mysterious Manner of One Mercurial Mite [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark Peter Parker, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Everyone Needs A Hug, Heroes to Villains, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, new series pog?, no beta we die like men, no pairings other than tony and pepper cause yeah, whoops?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietkindofthunder/pseuds/aquietkindofthunder
Summary: When his Aunt's gruesome murder sends Peter staying with the Avengers, Peter finds himself growing restless, desperate to find the people responsible for ruining his life. As he begins to spiral down a dark path, the Avengers struggle to drag him back into the light.Book One of The Mysterious Manner of One Mercurial Mite Series.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: The Mysterious Manner of One Mercurial Mite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108175
Comments: 39
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not me starting a whole new series when i currently have four other wips?
> 
> i'm honestly really excited for this series, it's the first thing i'm posting on this account, and it is going to have 3 books, all of which i have (luckily) planned out when i was supposed to be in my law lesson, but you know what? that's okay! who needs qualifications when you have Dark!Peter Parker amiright?
> 
> this is going to be a Hero to Villain story, because i love Dark!Peter, but i feel as though we don't get enough of it where peter is actually a villain, you know?
> 
> there is brief reference to suicidal thoughts in this chapter, but nothing specific, or graphic in that regard, and also some animal abuse that isn't too graphic, but you still might want to be careful reading. also language.
> 
> anywho, i hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**Part One**

_“How much can you change and get away with it, before you  
_ _turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?”_

-Richard Siken

* * *

Peter had always thought the Autumn was the best season.

It was the beginning of the new school year, and whilst many teens his age always detested the first day back at school, Peter was always ecstatic. He loved filling his backpack up with new stationery, fresh notebooks, empty binders, hundreds of Post-It notes just waiting to be stuck up around his desk, with reminders, random quotes, or just happy thoughts he had scribbled down during the day. He loved the pang of joy that erupted in his chest when he saw his friends all together for the first time in weeks, due to them always having conflicting schedules, what with vacations, and part-time jobs, them all finally coming together to make fun of each other, bitch about their problems, and to just enjoy being in each other’s company again.

Not only did school begin again in the Autumn, but it was also the season of Halloween, Thanksgiving, of annoying people by singing Christmas songs three months early, of collecting whatever junk had fallen off the ever-changing trees and placing it in some random drawer in your house, only to be found years later, wrinkly and covered in fluff.

Peter loved the temperature in Autumn. It wasn’t too hot, like Summer, and he could get away with wearing sweaters and beanies without anyone calling him weird. It wasn’t too cold, like Winter, and given that Peter couldn’t thermoregulate, he was grateful for the random moments of heat throughout September, October, and November. And unlike Spring, there weren’t countless bugs buzzing around, just waiting to cause a nuisance at an imperative moment, like when Peter was trying to take his History exam and ended up with a 76 _(a 76? Really, Ms. Walker?)_ because he couldn’t concentrate, what with a dozen flies flying around the classroom at all times.

In conclusion, Peter just really loved Autumn, a little too much in some people’s eyes.

So when he walked into the Tower one afternoon in early September, a spring in his step, and a wider smile than usual, the Avengers immediately knew that the kid was going to be absolutely insufferable.

“You all right, kid?” Clint asked as Peter bounded into the common room, his curls bouncing around his face, giving him the illusion of being younger than he was. He looked more like a 12-year-old than a 15-year-old.

“Yeah, I’m good! I’m great actually- I completely aced this quiz we had in Chemistry like none of us knew we were having it until like five minutes before when Sir handed out the worksheets, we were actually using Dalton’s Law of Partial Pressure to-”

Sam groaned. “Ugh, please stop, I don’t want to hear about another particle, atom, or quantum shit-bugger for the rest of my life, or at least until I’ve filled my stomach with copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Scott’s been talking to Tony and Bruce about his suit,” Natasha explained, seeing Peter’s confused expression, which instantly morphed into one of laughter.

“All. Day.” Sam’s voice was muffled from where his hands were pressed to his face, in agony, Peter assumed.

“You could have just left the room,” Steve said, frowning at his friend.

“Lang’s voice carries. It feels like wherever I am, he’s right there, just waiting to throw some surprise shit at me when I’m least expecting it.”

“Well throwing shit at you when you _are_ expecting it isn’t much fun now, is it,” Wanda said, smirking.

Everybody except Sam laughed, who instead turned to glower at Wanda, opening his mouth to retort.

Instead, an unmanly shriek left his lips, as Scott suddenly appeared beside him, his helmet retreating into his suit, revealing his face scrunched up, tears pooling in his eyes, as he doubled over with laughter.

“You did that- on purpose!” Sam heaved, hand supporting his ribs as he breathed heavily between his legs.

“Well, duh,” Scott said, grinning, once he’d finally calmed down enough to speak. “Friday said you were talking shit about me, and I couldn’t _not_ come say hello after your kind, kind words.”

Peter walked over to the nearest couch and sat down next to Bucky, smiling at him despite the bitter argument happening just three feet away.

“I love watching Sam get angry,” Bucky said softly to Peter, quiet enough so no one else could hear. “Not many things bring me joy in this world, but this? This is art.” Peter laughed, grinning at Bucky, and leaned back, watching as the pair got gradually more heated in their exchange.

“I’m not saying you can’t use your suit, I’m just saying that we’re meant to be fucking professionals-” Sam ignored the indignant noise Steve made in response to his language- “and it is in no way _professional_ to use your suit for childish pranks!”

“Oh, because you using your suit to fly to the ice cream parlor _not even two blocks away_ because you didn’t want to walk is a _completely_ justified use of government technology!”

“I’ll have you know that I sprained my ankle tripping over _your_ dirty underwear that you left in the middle of the goddamn hallway!”

“They are so getting married,” Peter whispered to Bucky, who snorted in response.

“Oh sorry, _Mom_ , hey, call me if you ever want a lift to the doctors to get your hip replaced-”

“The laundry room was two doors away! And even then, you have a fucked up habit of putting your clothes _next to_ the laundry basket! Not in- not on. _Next to_!”

“They’re dirty anyway, what difference does it make if-”

“Now is this any kind of example we should be making for a young and impressionable teenager?” Tony asked, walking into the room without even looking up from his phone.

“Whatever,” Sam sulked, leaning back in his chair, practically pouting.

“Hey, kid.” Tony smiled at Peter, who in turn waved. “Good day at school?”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! We were using Dalton’s-”

“We’re not doing this again,” Clint interrupted, glancing at Sam, whose forehead vein was getting ready to burst.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Okay?” He said hesitantly, before tucking his phone away and settling next to Natasha, who shuffled up slightly to make more room for him.

“Maybe talk about something now science-related,” Steve suggested, looking at Peter with a kind smile. “Just so we can avoid any aneurysms that might otherwise occur.”

“Oh, okay.” Peter thought for a moment, biting the skin off his lip. “Oh! MJ yelled at Flash again, which was pretty funny. Not funny. Interesting. Now that we’re sophomores, he thought it’d be okay to make fun of some of the freshmen, which included calling one of them a not so nice slur, which resulted in MJ screaming at him in the music corridor.” He considered. “Well, not _screaming_ , MJ doesn’t scream, but she did call him a lot of names that I wouldn’t feel comfortable repeating around adults. Or anyone.”

“Lovely,” Tony said, giving Peter a pained grimace. “Anything not so depressing?”

“Ned accidentally asked Betty out on a date.”

“How do you accidentally ask someone on a date?” Natasha asked.

“I mean, Ned’s liked Betty since like, third grade, but she never felt the same way, so he kinda gave up, but they were assigned this joint project in English Lit, so Ned suggested to go to this diner to work because his mom’s renovating their entire house, and Betty’s parents are going through this, like, really bad divorce, but apparently now Betty likes Ned because Sophie heard her telling Matilda that she was really excited for their _date_.”

“High school’s so fucking complicated man, I’m so glad I didn’t go,” Clint said, shaking his head.

“You didn’t?” Sam turned to look at him, all previous annoyances apparently forgotten.

“Homeschooled,” Clint replied, which left Sam nodding.

“But now Abe and Ned aren’t speaking, because it turns out Abe liked Betty too, which isn’t really working well, because they’re partners in decathlon.”

“Who, Abe and Betty, or Abe and Ned?” Wanda asked.

“Abe and Ned,” Peter said. “It’s making practice really stressful actually. MJ’s taken to getting a spray bottle and engaging in Aversion Therapy whenever they get on her nerves.”

“Practical,” Tony said, smiling.

Peter just nodded.

* * *

That night, as Peter was laying in bed in the room Tony had set up for him many months ago now ( _“If you’re going to be spending a lot of time here, you need to have a place to crash. No. No! You cannot just sleep on the couch!”_ ), shouting pulled him out of his near-slumber. The bedrooms were designed to be soundproof, but Tony hadn’t considered the fact that Peter had enhanced hearing, and Peter wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up. Mr. Stark had done enough for him already. Climbing out of bed, he silently walked over to the door and pulled it open a crack, just enough so that the voices were no longer as muffled.

“How could you not tell me that you have had an unregistered enhanced being in this Tower for 10 months? It is your job to alert me of these things when they come in, Stark-”

“Okay, first of all, he’s not a _being,_ he’s a kid. Second, he hasn’t been here the entire time, he just stays after-school some days and some weekends-”

“That doesn’t-”

“ _Third_ of all, I don’t work for you, Fury. Or had you forgotten that given our extensive history of me always, no matter the circumstances, doing _exactly_ as you say? Oh, wait-”

“The Avengers are a SHIELD run organization. That means, despite your occasional temper tantrums, and your uninhibited flouting of authority, you _do_ work for me. And as my _employee_ , it is up to you to provide information for me upon demand.”

“What the hell kind of _information_ could you possibly want that isn’t already available by a quick Google search or your borderline excessive archives? Peter Parker, 15, goes to Midtown Tech, has an unusually attractive Aunt, sorry, Pep-”

“I want information on Spiderman, Stark.”

“Great! Well, just go to YouTube and look up ‘annoying-as-hell-spiderbaby’- spiderbaby’s one word by the way- and that’ll have all the information you need.”

“I want information that you have! About him! His powers, his strengths, weaknesses-”

“Almost sounds like you’re looking for ways to take him out.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Romanoff.”

“Actually it does. If it concerns the kid, it concerns all of us.”

“This _kid_ is a potential threat to SHIELD, and you letting him here _unsupervised_ -”

“He’s hardly _unsupervised_ -”

“Is anyone watching him right now?”

“Yes. Friday.”

“Oh, because your tech is always _so_ reliable, right, Stark?”

“It’s kept me from falling out of the sky on multiple occasions, so I’m gonna go with yeah.”

It was quiet for a few moments, and Peter opened the door a few more inches, sticking his entire head out the door.

“This is what’s going to happen-”

“I do believe that this is a private conversation, Mr. Parker.”

Peter jumped back, smacking his head against the doorframe and stifling a groan. He glared up at the ceiling.

“They’re talking about me.”

“Yes, they are,” Friday confirmed. “Would you like me to inform them of your presence?”

“No!” Peter yelped, before coughing and lowering his voice. “I mean- no, it’s fine. I’ll just… just go to bed.”

“That does seem to be the right course of action. Goodnight, Peter.”

“Night,” Peter muttered, pulling back his duvet so he could climb into bed.

Instead of sleeping, however, Peter stayed awake, staring through the crack in his curtains at the night sky beyond them. It was rare to be able to have a good view of the stars in New York, what with pollution and all that jazz, and Peter was reveling in the soft light emanating from the sky.

He glanced at his clock. Being a few hours since the argument outside, it was well past 3 am. Tony and May had banned him from patrolling after 2, but they hadn’t said anything about just spending a little time in the moonlight. Peter swung his legs out of bed, and pulled on his sneakers, wrinkling his nose slightly as they rubbed uncomfortably against his sock-less feet.

The journey to the roof was easier than he’d expected. Tony didn’t let him up there often, always worried that Peter would try to swing off despite there being no building tall enough to catch him for blocks, but occasionally he would take them both up there when Peter was having a tough day, like when he’d had a panic attack two weeks ago during dinner. Tony had bundled Peter in blankets and led him up onto the roof, which was unseasonably cold for summer, and they had sat together in silence, just enjoying each other’s company as Peter had tried to steady his breathing.

_“Mr. Stark?”_ He’d asked, staring into the distance as dried tear tracks stained his cheeks.

_“Yeah, kid?”_

_“Do you-”_ Peter swallowed- _“Do you ever just think that it’s kinda… pointless?”_

Tony glanced at him, frowning. _“Do I think what’s pointless?”_

_“You know.”_ He gestured around. _“All of this.”_

Tony had felt his breathing stop short. _“Kid, if you’re having suicidal thoughts-”_

_“What?”_ Peter had laughed, in shock more than anything else. _“No. No, no, no, no, no. No.”_ He’d paused. _“I mean, maybe in the past, a bit, but not anymore. I just mean like, why do we bother helping people? It’s not going to change anything, is it? They’re still gonna… die, you know? We’re just delaying it a bit.”_

_“Peter…”_ Tony had sighed, feeling his heartbreak at the boy’s defeated tone. _“Did something happen on patrol? ‘Cause, this doesn’t sound like you. You’ve always been the one who’d insisted on helping everyone no matter what, remember? You’ve always been that annoyingly optimistic, self-sacrificing moron begging to be dragged along on missions.”_

Peter had been quiet for a few seconds, nibbling on his lip until it bled. _“A girl died today. A kid. I wasn’t on patrol. I was just out with my friends, and some- some_ asshole, _drove onto the curb and hit her. I knew it was going to hit her but I didn’t do anything. I just stood there and let her die.”_

Tony had wrapped his arm around him, pulling his close until Peter was nestled against his side. _“Why didn’t you tell us?”_

_“I thought-”_ Peter’s breath hitched- _“I thought that if I… if I just… forgot about it, it would be like it never happened. Like I didn’t ruin an entire family’s life.”_

_“You didn’t ruin their lives, Peter, the bastard who killed her did.”_

_“I good as killed her.”_

Peter shook his head, pulling himself out of the memory. The wind was swirling around him as he stood on the edge of the roof, taking in the bright lights from the city intermingling with the light from the stars.

“I hope you’re not planning on jumping, ‘cause that would be one hell of a mess to clean up.”

He smiled softly, and turned around, looking at Natasha who was leaning against the door to the roof.

“I heard what happened with Director Fury,” he said, walking a few steps away from the edge. He could have sworn he saw Natasha relax a little as he got further away, but he pushed that thought aside. She couldn’t have actually thought he was going to jump, right?

“I figured you would have,” she said, moving a strand of hair out of her face. She was still in her pajamas, a soft pink shirt, and grey shorts that looked as though they’d been in the dryer one too many times. “Is that why you’re standing out here at 3:18 in the morning?”

Peter shrugged. “Just wanted some air, ‘sall.”

Humming, Natasha opened the door and stepped aside indicating for him to walk through. “There are these funny things called windows, you know? They actually open, so you can get some air from the comfort of your own bed.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked past her, and they both walked in silence to their respective rooms without so much as a goodnight.

Or rather, a good morning, really.

* * *

“Anakin would have become Vader whether he met Padme or not, there’s no question there!”

“The whole reason he turned to the dark side was because he was paranoid that the love of his life was going to die and he wanted to save her. If he never met Padme, he never would have wanted more power, so he never would have gone to Palpatine.”

“That’s bullshit. Anakin _always_ wanted more power than he deserved. His entire character arc was that he was born with no power, and he wanted to make people hurt the way he hurt.”

“That’s a really black and white way to look at it. There’s more to his character than just _wanting power_.”

“Look man, I’m just saying, Anakin was destined to become Vader from the beginning, no matter what happened in the films, he always would have gone to the dark side.”

“So you think that some people are just predisposed to become evil? That situational circumstances have no influence over character development or lifestyle choices at all? Because that’s a really fucked up thing to think.”

“Peter what do you think?” Ned asked, turning away from MJ who had an angry expression adorning her face as she too turned to stare at Peter.

Peter closed the laptop in front of them. “I think that we shouldn’t watch the prequels anymore.”

“Come on, Anakin was always gonna be evil, you know that.”

“That’s a leading question,” MJ argued.

“That wasn’t a question at all!”

“This is just like Avatar all over again.”

“I can’t believe that you don’t think Azula is evil!”

“I never said she wasn’t evil. I said that she was a victim disguised as a villain and that she was manipulated by her father from birth, and because of her strained relationship with her family, she never learned to make lasting, healthy relationships, meaning that she showed ‘affection’ in a way that would only hurt others _and_ herself. Not to mention she was only 14.”

“She killed countless people.”

“Because she had a traumatic childhood. She was raised to have impossibly high standards, and to create competition with everyone around her, especially her brother, and her downfall was because she couldn’t bear to be worse than somebody she viewed as lower than her.”

“To be fair, she _could_ have had a really good redemption arc,” Peter supplied, laughing at the glare Ned sent his way.

“Well, if having a traumatic childhood is an excuse for conquering an entire city and murdering countless families, then we may as well call Peter King of New York.”

“I’m fine with that.”

MJ huffed. “Let’s just change the subject. What should we do?”

Ned dropped some packets of chips in front of the three of them, and scratched his head, thinking. “How about some light world domination?”

“Been there, done that,” MJ said dismissively. She picked up one of the packets of chips from in front of her and ripped them open, popping one in her mouth. She swallowed. “We could always practice for decathlon.”

Ned groaned. “It’s a Saturday.”

“Well, I don’t hear you giving any ideas.”

“I just gave you a perfectly valid suggestion, and you shut me down!”

Peter sighed, and leaned back against the side of MJ’s bed, letting his head fall back on the dark orange duvet, choosing to ignore the bickering around him. Ned and MJ both had extremely strong personalities, unlike Peter who practically shit himself anytime he had to speak in class, and they would frequently bash heads over the slightest things. If Peter didn’t love the both of them to death he probably would have found new friends by now. And if he wasn’t so damn awkward.

“How the fuck do you think that broccoli and mustard can go together?”

“Their contrasting flavors and textures create a symphony of joy on my taste buds!”

“That is kinda gross, dude,” Peter muttered. Ned smacked him in the face with a pillow. “Ow.”

“You’re both just jealous that I’m such a daring individual, and I’m not too much of a pussy to try things deemed unpalatable- oh sorry,” Ned apologized, seeing MJ’s affronted expression at his choice of words.

She shook her head. “We could play a video game or something. Just Dance?”

“I think I’ll sit that one out,” Peter said, sitting up straight, and folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll watch.”

“Your loss, man,” Ned said, getting to his feet and grabbing the Wii remote from MJ.

Peter found himself laughing as Ned enthusiastically swung his arm and smacked MJ in the face.

* * *

It was just after 10 when Peter arrived home the next morning. He knew that May had been working the night shift, and would probably be asleep, so he crept into his bedroom and shut the door softly behind him, before getting changed into his suit and climbing out his window to make his escape.

It was a relatively boring patrol. A few muggings. A daylight robbery of a convenience store (Mr. Criminal’s weapon? A potato peeler from the discount aisle.) Not one, not two, but _three_ bicycle thefts in the span of an hour. And one elderly man struggling to load his groceries into his car.

Peter sat on the edge of an apartment building a few blocks from his own. It was peaceful up here- it was a relatively calm neighborhood, and Peter usually passed through it on the way to school. There was this one dog that he’d say hello to that was always chained outside this small liquor store, with a muzzle and everything. It was a thin, sad-looking thing, and Peter always tried to go out of his way to say hello to him. Speaking of, he hadn’t visited him in a while, so he quickly dropped down from his perch and scaled down the wall, almost landing on a woman’s head as she was passing beneath him.

He apologized quickly.

He walked instead of swung down the street, nodding at civilians who were looking at him with surprise. He would smile, but no one could ever tell with his mask on, so the nodding had to make do. When the liquor store was finally in sight, he started jogging, eager to see his friend.

The dog was sat outside, as usual, looking thinner than ever, the muzzle digging into his snout painfully. Peter winced, and crouched down, calling softly to the old dog. It jerked its head up and let out a small whine, inching towards Peter on trembling paws, tugging against the short-chain attaching it to the wall.

“Hey, boy,” he whispered soothingly, firmly running his hand up and down the dog’s back. “Recognize me?” The dog tilted its head, considering, before rubbing the top of its head against Peter’s knee. He laughed, scratching behind the dog’s ears when he noticed how matted its fur was around the muzzle. Using both hands, Peter gently pried one of the thin straps of the muzzle to the side and gasped at the long cuts making their way through the dog’s head. The matted fur, Peter realized, was a result of the dried blood that had collected in the short hairs.

Anger burst in Peter’s chest, and he immediately started grappling with the buckles of the muzzle, desperate to get it off the poor creature. He was stopped short, however, when a large hand grasped his shoulder.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’ to my bitch?”

Peter shot up, turning around, and forcing the hand off of him. “You’re hurting him,” he said, acting more confident than he felt.

“I ain’t hurting nobody,” the man replied, malice glinting in his eyes. Peter took a small step back at the sight of him- he was much larger than your average crook, with a bald, shiny head, and tattoos running all over his thick arms. He looked exactly like the type of person who would hurt a dog. Or a person. “An’ I’d appreciate it if you got off my property, Spider- _bitch.”_

“The street is public property,” Peter replied, balling his hands into fists. “And animal abuse is a crime, standing outside a shop isn’t.”

“No, but loitering is. And messing with someone else’s _property_ -” he nodded at the dog that had cowered into the shadows once more- “is also a criminal offense.”

Peter shot daggers at him with his eyes, not that anyone could see, but eventually felt the fight go out of him. This wasn’t a battle he would win, he knew. Anything he did would just result in the poor dog getting hurt even more. And he could sense a dozen other guys, just as big as the man in front of him, in the shop behind him, waiting. Peter could take the one man, but twelve, all built like heavyweight champions? Nothing would end well from that.

He glanced at the dog behind him, before sighing softly, tears welling in his eyes. Swallowing, Peter turned and made his way back down the street the way he’d come.

He’d only been out for a couple of hours when he climbed back in through his window. And somehow, he felt even more of a failure than when he’d let that little girl die. Getting changed back into his regular clothes, Peter glanced in the mirror, scowling at his reflection, and walked into the living room, expecting to see May reading, or watching television, only to find himself alone. Frowning, he walked over to May’s bedroom door and knocked softly. May never slept past midday, even after working a night shift, but she wasn’t anywhere else from what he could gather. “May?” He called gently, knocking again, a little louder than before. “May?” Getting impatient, Peter turned the handle, and peeked inside her bedroom, frowning at the empty bed, sheets made neatly, looking as though no one had slept in them.

That should have been clue enough that something was wrong. May was hopeless at making a bed and always left her sheets in a crumpled mess. Peter would usually go in and straighten them out for her whilst she was in the bathroom every morning. But here was her bed, made exactly as Peter had tidied it the day before, and no sign of his aunt.

Peter walked back into the living room, and suddenly noticed something he’d missed the first time he’d entered the apartment that day.

There was a note on the fridge.

There were three things Peter noticed about the note after feeling the initial relief of having some sign May was alright.

  1. The note, signed May, said that she’d had to go to her cousin’s, and would probably be gone a while, knowing how much Cousin Julie liked to chat.
  2. The note had been stuck on the fridge- usually, May would leave her notes on the kitchen island, knowing Peter was more likely to see them there than anywhere else seeing as he liked to do his homework there.
  3. The note was not written in May’s handwriting.



And then he noticed the fourth, something he’d wished he’d never have to see.

4\. The bottom of the note was stained in blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter struggles to deal with May's disappearance, and the Avengers try to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 bois
> 
> thank you to everyone who commented- made my day x

A boy loses everything and then some.

A mind so fractured and twisted that it can no longer differentiate between right and wrong

good and bad

is one that must be protected from further terror

so as not to impose a distorted field of view of a wondrous world, instead of burdened with the horrors of the universe because God can no longer handle the strain.

Pain is but a vessel for love, and love is but a vessel for hatred, but when one’s

psyche is disfigured beyond recognition, it is easy for the lines to

blur.

A boy loses everything including himself.

* * *

“How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

Peter was laying on his bed, legs curled up to his chest. He didn’t respond.

Tony sighed and sat down next to him, gingerly reaching out to brush his curly hair out of his face. “It’s only been a few days. There’s no reason not to think that she’s not completely fine.” Tony knew it was bullshit as he said it. And he knew the kid knew that too.

He glanced at Peter’s hands, which were huddled under his chin, and frowned sadly. The note Peter had found in his apartment was crumpled in his fist. The boy had been staring at it so much, Tony was surprised the ink hadn’t faded.

“Okay, that’s it,” Tony said, scooping his hand under Peter’s elbow and lifting him into a seated position. He didn’t protest at all, just relaxed his body and allowed Tony to maneuver him until his back was resting against the headboard. Tony placed his hand on Peter’s cheek. “I know this is hard, but I need you to try and stay present.” He moved his face into Peter’s eye line. “Can you look at me, kid?”

Peter slowly dragged his gaze up to meet Tony’s eyes. His grip around the letter tightened.

“That’s better,” Tony said, smiling. “Here.” He reached over to Peter’s bedside table and grabbed the water bottle waiting there. It hadn’t been opened. Tony twisted the cap off and helped Peter get trembling fingers around it and led it to the boy’s lips.

“Bad.” Peter’s voice was rough, despite the water he’d sipped moments earlier. Tony was shocked at hearing him speak.

“What?” He asked, nearly dropping the bottle he was still holding. “What’s bad?”

“You asked.”

Tony wracked his mind, trying to figure out what the hell the kid was talking about before he remembered the question he’d asked as he’d entered Peter’s room. “Oh, kid.”

He reached out to pull Peter into a hug, but he leaned out of the way, slowly swinging his legs out of bed, letting his feet dangle just above the floor. Despite everything, Tony felt a chuckle rise in his chest as he realized the kid was too short for his feet to actually touch the floor.

Peter smoothed out the paper in his hands, carefully spreading it out on his lap. “You really think she could be okay?”

Tony hesitated, not wanting to lie to him. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean we’re going to stop looking, okay? And if-” he swallowed- “if anything _has_ happened, then you can carry on staying here. Hell, you know I've been trying to get you to move in for months anyway.”

Nodding, Peter let his feet press against the floor. He stood up. “I think I’m gonna have a shower.”

“Good plan.” Tony stood up with him and slapped the boy’s shoulder. “You reek.”

“Thanks.”

As Tony left the room, Peter made his way into the bathroom, still clutching the note. Staring into the mirror, he winced, running a hand through his greasy hair. It was getting long too. Pepper had offered to cut it for him a few weeks ago- maybe he should have taken her up on the offer.

He placed the letter on the counter in front of him and read it through for the two-hundred and eighty-third time.

_Hey baby,_

_Gonna be home late- going to Julie’s. She’s got a new boyfriend again (yippee) so we’ll probs be chatting a while. Leftovers are in the refrigerator._

_Love you,_

_May x_

Groaning, he swept it onto the floor and buried his head in his hands. He knew Tony and the Avengers had been doing everything they could to track down May, but they flat-out refused to let him help, insisting that he was too ‘emotionally invested’ to be able to think rationally. Peter was beyond bitter.

_It’s because they don’t trust you_ , a nasty voice in his head chimed up, and Peter thought back to Fury’s visit. Sure, the team had been overly confrontational towards Director Fury, but had they actually at any point defended Peter?

_Why should they?_ The same voice asked snarkily, and Peter smacked the heel of his palm against his forehead. He was being ridiculous. He hadn’t slept in way too long, and he was beyond stressed- in fact, he seemed to remember MJ informing him that paranoia was a sign of sleep deprivation, which he surely must be experiencing by now, right?

Turning to the shower, Peter’s limbs seemed to become ten-times heavier as he imagined dragging himself under the water and staying upright for an extended period of time. Leaning back against the counter, he wondered whether he could get away with simply ducking his head under the sink tap.

Sighing, he turned the shower on anyway, waiting for it to heat up. Just as he began to take his shirt off, Peter remembered a TikTok he had seen, saying that if you get into the bath fully clothed, it was like being hugged.

He bit his lip, before turning the shower off and running a bath instead. When it was full, he carefully stepped in, trying not to slip in his socks. Peter sat down, pulling his knees close to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. It was almost nice.

“Peter, does everything seem to be okay?” He heard Friday ask from the ceiling.

He glanced up. “Fine, thanks.”

“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?”

“No, thank you.”

“As you wish.”

Peter leaned his head back, letting tears run down his cheeks for the first time since this all began.

* * *

“Have you found anything?”

Bucky looked up to see Peter standing in front of him. “Not yet, kid.” He turned back to his laptop, where he was scouring security footage from outside Peter’s apartment building. The truth was, he had found something, something very promising, but Bucky had promised Tony that he wouldn’t show the kid anything upsetting without telling him first.

The footage showed three masked men- or women, the footage was blurry- dragging a half-unconscious May into a dark van, before speeding off, leaving nothing behind them. Bucky zoomed in on the license plate for the hundredth time, to no avail. The video he was watching hadn’t been edited in any way, it had been taken directly from the city’s video archives, but for whatever reason the license plate was illegible.

“What are you looking at?”

Bucky sighed, glancing at Peter again, to see that the boy hadn’t moved an inch. He frowned. “Why are your jeans wet?”

“What are you looking at?

He closed the laptop, tucking it under his arm and standing up. “Nothing that you need to concern yourself with. Go do kid stuff.”

Walking away, he didn’t look back to see if Peter had done as he said, just made his way straight through to Tony’s lab and dropped the computer on the man’s desk, making him jump.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asked, clutching his chest, exaggerating breathing heavily. “You _know_ I have a heart problem.”

Bucky opened the laptop and pointed at the screen. “Why can’t I read the plate?”

Tony laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Struggling with the tech again? You see this here is called a _trackpad_ -”

“The plate, Stark.”

“Fine, fine, jeez, you make a joke.” Tony fiddled with some of the settings on the computer for a few minutes before sitting back. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I can’t read it,” he said, closing the laptop and handing it back to Bucky. “I don’t think the footage is corrupted. Or if it is, I can’t figure out how. You say this is straight from the source?”

Bucky nodded. “Nat pulled it this morning.”

“Dunno what to tell you. Maybe see if this is just some kind of well-made copy or something. I can’t get anything from this.”

“Can I show it to the kid?”

“Why the hell would you?”

He shrugged. “Peter was asking about it a few minutes ago.”

Tony shook his head, turning back to his work. “Don’t. He’s not doing too good already. I don’t want to show him anything like that, _especially_ if it doesn’t actually help us.”

“You can’t wrap him in cotton wool forever.”

“Who said anything about cotton wool?” Tony asked, affronted.

“The kid is beating himself up every second of every day,” Bucky said, doing his best to keep any emotion out of his voice. “Letting him be involved could help him recover faster.”

“And if it triggers him more? I can’t deal with a depressed teenager on top of everything else.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s already depressed.”

“Oh, because you know him so much better than I do, right?” Tony stood up, not at all put off by the size disparity between them.

“You let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

Tony clenched his teeth, pointing a finger at Bucky, before deflating, sinking back into his chair. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Don’t ask me, I don’t get kids any more than you do.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t asking you anyway.”

“That’s real nice.” Whilst their words were harsh, the pair knew that the tension had more or less dissipated.

Tony shook his head. “Get the hell out my lab.”

* * *

It was three in the morning when a piercing scream caught Peter’s attention from a lower floor.

Racing out of the bathroom and his bedroom, he started sprinting in the direction of the scream only to collide headfirst with Steve, the pair instantly tumbling to the floor, Steve’s shield sliding off all the way to the end of the corridor.

“What’s goin’ on?” Peter asked blearily, raising his head to stare at Steve, who was looking just as bewildered as Peter felt.

“No clue,” the man replied, helping Peter to his feet. “Friday?”

“It appears that there is an intruder on the 86th floor. Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Stark, and Doctor Banner are already at the scene.”

“Got it.” Steve jogged towards his shield, quickly grabbing it and attaching it to his arm. He ran off towards the elevator, leaving Peter to dash back into his room, grabbing his shoes and web shooters, pulling them on as he hopped towards the staircase, knowing it would be quicker than waiting for the elevator.

He jumped over a few banisters, landing lightly on the floor below, and hurried towards the sound of the agitated voices he could hear not too far away. Shoving open the door to the 86th floor, he careered into a table placed, stupidly in Peter’s opinion, directly opposite the door.

Groaning, Peter slumped to his knees, cradling his ribs as a sharp pain shot through them. He pulled himself up and hurried through the large door that led to one of the staff rooms only the highest level SI employees had access to. He saw more people than Friday had mentioned gathered around one of the couches, staring at something that was out of Peter’s line of sight.

“We can’t let the kid see this,” Clint said, and Peter frowned at the nauseous expression on his face.

“See what?” He asked, taking a few steps forward, not wanting to listen to another conversation about him. Peter glanced at Steve. “I thought there was an intruder.”

Tony walked towards him with quick steps, stopping him from coming any further. “Peter…”

He stared at Tony, waiting for him to continue speaking, but he didn’t. “What’s going on?” Peter tried to look around the man, but he was turned around, and Tony began pushing him out of the room. “Mr. Stark-” He twisted his neck and glanced behind them. “Is that blood?”

All the air seemed to disappear from the room.

“Tones,” Rhodey said softly. “We can’t hide this from him.”

“Hide what?” Peter jerked out of Tony’s grip and stared at the group in front of him. When no one answered, he started walking towards the couch. Nobody stopped him.

May’s body was crumpled on the floor, Bruce crouching next to her, holding her limp wrist. A sombre expression coated his face.

“What?” He said, opening his mouth and closing it a few times, his mind becoming fuzzy as he stared at the woman in front of him. “No.”

“Pete…”

“No!” He tried to shout, voice cracking so it came out as little more than a strangled yelp. Breathing heavily, he averted his gaze to stare at another body he hadn’t noticed before.

It was a man, maybe late 30s. His body was lying several feet away, and he had a small pistol in his hand and a bullet hole going up through his head.

Not bothering to question the second body, Peter fell to his knees, ignoring the pressure against his shoulders, and reached out to grab May’s hand, scrabbling for a pulse. There was none.

A basket was shoved under his chin as he threw up.

* * *

“I think he’s doing better,” Steve said, taking a sip from the tea in his hand. It was ginger green tea. Natasha had bought it by accident the other week, and Steve was the only one who seemed to like it.

“How is refusing to talk to any of us about it ‘doing better’? You saw him at the funeral. The poor boy is devastated.” Pepper asked, frowning at him.

Steve put his mug on the side table next to him. “He’s not hiding away in bed like he was before. He has some closure. Even leaving his room is progress.”

“I don’t understand,” Scott said, running a hand over the back of his head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, why would they leave Peter a note apparently from May if they were just going to kill her?” Clint chimed in.

“Maybe they didn’t mean to kill her.” Bucky leaned back in his chair. “Or didn’t plan on it at least. Maybe they weren’t going to keep her that long but something happened.”

“And they didn’t want Peter to get suspicious too early,” Natasha added. “So they left him the note to tide him over, not thinking he’d see through it that quick.”

“It still doesn’t make sense though,” Wanda said, her accent thicker because of her sore throat. She’d been crying a lot recently. “Why bring her body here in the first place? To scare us?”

“Maybe it was a threat,” Rhodey suggested. “Let us know what they’re capable of.”

Steve picked his drink back up. “And May was an easy target. None of us would have thought she’d be targeted by anyone.”

“I did.”

They all jumped at the quiet voice that had spoken. They turned to see Peter standing at the edge of the common room, eyes red.

“This was exactly why I didn’t want to join you guys. Why I didn’t want anyone to know my identity.”

“Kid,” Tony said gently, speaking for the first time since he had sat down with the others. “We don’t know for certain that she was targeted because of her connection to you.”

“Why else?”

Tony was stumped.

“And she wasn’t an _easy target_ ,” Peter said, glaring at Steve, who had the decency to look somewhat ashamed at his words. “Just because she wasn’t a trained, fucking, assassin doesn’t mean that she was an _easy fucking target_.”

“Less mouthing off, please,” Pepper reprimanded him, keeping her tone as soft as she could whilst still sounding authoritative. Tony tried not to laugh. Pepper could be found swearing like a sailor after the lightest inconvenience, but Tony knew she was right. It was always disconcerting to hear the kid swearing so blatantly.

Peter held back an eye roll. He didn’t have it in him to be rude to Pepper, regardless of how hurt he was feeling.

“We didn’t mean that in a bad way, Peter,” Natasha told him. “You know what we meant.”

He huffed, forcing his frustration down. “I’m sorry for swearing,” he said stiffly. “Can I go on patrol?” Looking to Tony, he shifted from one foot to the other.

Tony frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It's only been a few weeks since-”

“I haven’t left the Tower for ages. Please?” Peter swallowed, widening his eyes in hopes of making Tony give in.

It worked.

Twenty minutes later, Peter was swinging through the streets of New York, quickly making his way over to Queens.

It was just getting dark outside, and the soft glow of street lamps illuminated the ground Peter stood on when he finally arrived at his destination. The building hadn’t changed in the six weeks he’d been away. His bedroom curtains were drawn, and he slowly climbed up the fire escape, and slid up his window, stepping into his room. His _old_ room.

It was unbearably empty. Happy had come to the apartment two weeks ago and put everything Peter didn’t need in storage. Which meant the posters and pictures he’d had lining his walls were gone. The glow stars Ben had put on his ceiling all those years ago were gone. The desk he and May had put together last year was in pieces in the Tower’s basement. Even the carpet had been pulled up.

Peter walked over to his door and ran his fingers down the large crack running down it. It had appeared six years ago when he and Ned were pretending to be Stormtroopers and Ned had tripped, his elbow smashing into the door. His arm had been in a sling for a month.

He opened the door, sighing, and walked into the living room, only to stop short.

There was a man crouched in a sleeping bag, empty bottles surrounding him. He jerked his head up to stare at Peter, who thankfully hadn’t pulled his mask off.

“Spiderman?” He asked, blinking blearily.

Peter felt anger rise in his chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He noticed a vomit splatter against the wall. “What the _fuck_?”

“Huh?” The, clearly homeless, man asked, getting out of the sleeping bag and grabbing a bottle, taking a swig from it.

“Stop that!” Peter stormed forwards and tugged the bottle away from him, yanking it from in between his lips, gasping at the man’s pained yell as blood flew from his mouth.

Something fell to the floor, and looking down, Peter saw that he had managed to knock out at least one of the man’s teeth.

“Shit,” he muttered, dropping the bottle and letting it smash against the hard floor. “Hey,” he said sharply, grabbing the man by his collar, and yanking him upright. “How did you get in here?” When he didn’t answer, Peter shook him harshly. “How the fuck did you get in?”

He pointed towards Peter’s old bedroom.

“The fire escape?”

He nodded.

Peter could vaguely hear a voice in his ear. “Karen, mute.” The voice instantly stopped. He let go of the man, and took a step back, watching blood drip from his mouth, whimpering softly. “I’m going to leave now,” he informed him, feet crunching against the shattered glass, “and I expect you to be gone by morning. I’ll be coming back to check. Understand?”

He nodded once more.

“Good.” Peter turned to leave, before stopping. “And I want the puke cleaned up too. And the blood.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before walking out.

* * *

Peter had a panic attack the second he dropped into the alleyway behind the apartment building. Struggling to breathe, he ripped his mask off, tossing it to the side, and heaved against the cold brick wall, water dripping down onto his face, mingling with sweat and tears.

He hadn’t even noticed that it had started to rain.

Trying and failing to steady his breathing, Peter tried to remember the techniques his therapist had taught him years ago. He had left therapy after only a few sessions, but apparently breathing in some special way was meant to help?

He remembered reading that breathing through your mouth triggered a ‘fight or flight’ response, so he forced himself to breathe through his nose and then out through his mouth. It helped a little.

Standing up straight, Peter winced as he remembered how he had acted in the apartment. The man probably didn’t have any kind of dental coverage, and Peter had essentially ripped his front teeth out. That must have hurt.

Turning his hand into a fist, he smacked it into the wall, hissing through his teeth at the dull pain. He punched the wall again, and then again, over and over, until he had ripped a hole in his glove and his skin until he had the slightest understanding of the pain he had put the man through. Blood trickled from his knuckles, and breathing deeply, Peter picked up his mask, tugging it over his face and unmuting Karen.

“Hello, Peter,” the AI said icily, clearly annoyed at being muted. “You appear to have several abrasions on your right fist, and I’m detecting possible fractures. You’ll probably need to do something about that.”

“I’m sorry for muting you, Karen,” he said sincerely. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Karen’s voice softened slightly. “Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark to come and pick you up? It could be dangerous for you to swing with an injured hand.”

Sighing, irritated, Peter refused and began making the journey back to the Tower, eventually switching to just using his left hand. He didn’t understand why everyone felt the need to baby him so much. Friday, Pepper, Tony, Karen, Bucky- he didn’t need to be protected all the time. He was managing just fine, thank you very much. This whole May thing wasn’t even bothering him that much! Sure, he had spent days terrified for her safety, not eating, or sleeping, or ‘caring about his safety’, and sure, seeing her corpse had definitely put a damper on his mood and made him unable to get a full night’s sleep for weeks, and sent him spiraling into dissociative states multiple times a day, but he was fine!

There was nothing wrong at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be honest, not completely happy with this chapter, but i wanted to get something out. might end up editing it at a later date, so if i do, i'll mention it so you can read the changes if you want to :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An English lesson with some odd symbolism and Peter finally meets Nick Fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i was supposed to upload this last week but in my defense i, like, -really- didn't want to so
> 
> plot's finally picking up from here on out bois

“‘ _... the waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, the moon, their mistress, had expir’d before; the winds were wither’d in the stagnant air, and the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need of aid from them—She was the Universe _ .’” Mrs. Dalton closed the book she was reading from and smiled up at the class, looking for any sign that they had been paying attention to the long poem. “Taking a look at it in front of you, can anybody tell me what the overarching theme of Byron’s ‘Darkness’ is? What does it make you think of? What do you think Byron was thinking about when he wrote it?”

Peter saw Eleanor’s hand shoot up from the other side of the room and fought the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that he was probably just as irritating in the sciences- it wasn’t Eleanor’s fault she was good at English.

Mrs. Dalton sighed. “Eleanor?” She asked tiredly.

“The brutality of man, Mrs. Dalton,” she said, her prim voice easily filling the small classroom. “More specifically, how man will stop at nothing to find solace, even if that means sacrificing each other and all that they care about.”

“Hmm,” their teacher hummed, perching on the edge of her desk. “Well, that is certainly one interpretation.” Eleanor’s face fell. “Not necessarily the one I would have gone for, but an interpretation nonetheless.” Snickers made their way around the classroom. “Anyone else want to take an educated guess at the theme?”

“Darkness?” Abe asked head slumped on his desk. Mrs. Dalton smiled as the class laughed again.

“You’re not wrong there, though that may be a very  _ one-dimensional  _ view of the topic at hand. Anyone else?” She stood up and started walking around the room. “Anybody at all?” She stopped behind MJ. “Michelle, how about you?”

MJ’s pencil fell onto her desk, and she looked up from her sketch, turning her head so she could see Mrs. Dalton.

“Still with us, Miss Jones?” She joked, and MJ frowned, picking up the poem and scanning it.

“It’s a warning,” she said eventually, letting the poem float back onto her desk, and continue sketching.

Mrs. Dalton raised her eyebrows and began walking back to the front of the classroom. “Care to elaborate at all?”

“Nope.” MJ didn’t look up from the drawing in front of her.

The teacher sighed, and shook her head, letting it slide. “It is, in fact, a warning, as Michelle so eloquently phrased for us.” Peter looked sympathetically at her, and she widened her eyes slightly at him. He smiled. “Can anyone tell us what Byron could be warning us of? Peter.” Peter jerked his head up. “Seeing as you seem to be so fascinated with staring at Michelle, maybe you can expand on her oh-so-Byzantine observation.” Eleanor laughed loudly, before quickly sobering at the looks her classmates were giving her.

“Um…” Peter looked over his shoulder at Ned for help, only for his friend to wince, pained. He looked back to the front, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Is it a… a warning about- um- like, inequality and stuff?” Mrs. Dalton motioned for him to carry on. “Like, in, um, line eleven it says about the palaces of kings and huts of things that dwell and stuff were ‘burnt for beacons’ and ‘cities were consum’d’.” Peter glanced at MJ, who subtly nodded. “It’s saying that, like, when everything was destroyed and stuff, everything became equal, like an even playing field, regardless of- um- like, where you started, or stuff. And they’re all… um… like, suffering together, I guess.”

Mrs. Dalton smiled. “A very stilted, but surprisingly acute, observation, Peter. I’ll be expecting a similar standard from  _ all  _ of you in the essay that you’re going to be writing me for homework.” The entire class groaned, and Peter slunk down at his desk, trying to breathe evenly. His heart rate was through the roof at being picked on.

He scribbled down the essay title Mrs. Dalton had written on the board, before stuffing his books into his bag as the final bell went.

“Did I say you could leave?” The teacher asked a group of girls who had stood up and were approaching the door. They all fussed, sitting back down reproachfully and glaring at her. “I want these essays ready by our next lesson, alright? I’ll be picking on you at random to read them to the class, so make sure you actually do the work.” She waved her hand dismissively, and the class all stood up, gathering their things and exiting the classroom, chattering amongst themselves. Peter stood, waiting for Ned, and they both walked over to MJ who was slinging her satchel over her shoulder.

“You’re shit at English,” she said as the three of them left the classroom, making their way towards the cafeteria.

“I got it right, didn’t I?” Peter asked, affronted.

“To be fair, man, you sounded like you were having an aneurysm.” Peter glared in Ned’s direction as Michelle snorted, rolling her eyes. “Good poem though.”

“Right?” MJ’s face brightened. “Lord Byron was an asshole, but he was an incredible writer. That poem was so ahead of its time, it’s so difficult to create something that can stay relevant for hundreds of years.”

“Two hundred years,” Ned corrected.

“Two hundred is more than one hundred, hence my usage of the plural.”

Peter pulled out his phone as his friends began bickering again, scrolling through his notifications until he came across a message that made his breathing stop short.

**_Mr. Stark:_ ** _ Hey kid can you get yourself back to the tower tonight? Situation in Canada that we’ve gone to deal with so there won’t be anyone there when you get home. Should be back tmrw. Stay out of trouble. _

Glancing at his friends, Peter mumbled something about needing the bathroom before ducking into the nearest men’s room and dialing Mr. Stark’s number.

It took ten seconds before the man picked up the phone.

“Not really a good time, kid!” Peter could hear gunshots in the background and he winced, feeling guilty for disturbing him.

“You went on a mission without me?” He asked, hurt flooding his voice.

“Not a mission. And you were at school.”

“But I could have left!” He argued, glancing at the door before lowering his voice. “I could have helped.”

“Kid,” he heard Tony sigh. “Spider-Man is not more important than your education. We’ve talked about this.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Tony interrupted, “you need to learn to follow instructions before we’ll trust you on the field.”

“I knew this wasn’t just about school,” Peter grumbled, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, wrinkling his nose as he imagined the countless germs now collecting on his body.

He heard swearing over the line. “Kid, I need to go, we’ll talk later.”

“No, wait-”

Mr. Stark hung up the phone, leaving Peter crouched beside the sinks. He stood up, only to smack his head against the hand dryer directly above his head.

“Fuck’s sake.”

* * *

The Tower was quiet when he finally arrived, most of the employees working there having been sent home early because it was a Friday. Peter walked into the common room, grabbing an apple from the counter and throwing his bag onto the couch, sinking down next to it with a sigh. The quiet was almost unnerving, Peter found, so he switched on the television, idly flicking through the channels as he rolled the apple around in his hand.

Not being able to settle on anything, he turned it back off. Pulling his feet up onto the couch, Peter stared down at the apple, focusing on the sounds he could hear to ground himself.

He could hear people rummaging around several floors below him.

He could hear the pipes creaking as water flowed through them.

He could hear birds tweeting on the roof, soft footsteps scratching above him.

He could hear a light whirring as electricity made its way all around the Tower.

He could hear his own blood pumping around his body alongside the beating of his heart.

It was easier to focus on that- the steady  _ thump  _ of his heart distracted him from the painful thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind.

_ Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-ba-dum-dum. Ba-ba-dum-dum. _

Peter shot out of his seat, the apple dropping to the floor with a thud. He whirled around searching for the source of the second heart-beat, his own heart beating faster than ever.

“Friday?” He asked quietly, taking in his surroundings urgently. “Is there anyone else here?”

There was no reply.

“Friday?” He asked a little louder, looking up at the ceiling. “Are you there?”

“There’s no need to panic,” a firm voice came from behind him, and Peter spun around, a sharp intake of breath filling his lungs.

He raised his hand, pointing at the figure in front of him. “You’re Nick Fury.”

“Yes, I am. Good job.” Fury walked towards him before crouching down and picking up the apple Peter had dropped. “You shouldn’t waste food,” he said, taking a bite.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, taking a small step back, flushing as Fury raised his eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you or anything. I came to see Stark.” He sat down in one of the armchairs.

“He’s not here,” Peter said, still standing.

“That’s two for two, you sure are on a roll.”

Peter remained where he was for a few more seconds before gingerly sitting back on the couch. “What’s wrong with Friday?”

Fury shrugged, taking another bite of the apple. “Someone mentioned a power shortage on my way up. The AI didn’t reboot. That’s all I know.”

Rolling his jaw, Peter frowned, staring at Fury. “Why did you come to see Mr. Stark? He said he was on a mission in Canada.”

Fury squinted at Peter. “He’s in Canada, huh?”

Peter stopped short. Was he not supposed to have mentioned that? “I- I mean, I don- I don’t know,” he stuttered, swallowing thickly. “He might be, or- or he might be somewhere… else,” he said weakly, knowing by Fury’s face that he’d screwed up.

Sighing, Fury finished his apple, throwing it in the trash from where he sat. He stood up, dusting himself off slightly, and started walking towards the elevator. “It was nice to properly meet you, Spider-Man. You’ve been very, _very_ helpful.” Fury pressed the button for the elevator, waiting for it to arrive. Peter stood up, turning to face Fury.

“I didn’t- I mean, did I do something wrong? Is that why you don’t like me? Have I gotten the others in trouble?”

Shaking his head slightly, Fury rubbed his face tiredly. “Look, kid, it’s nothing personal. I just have a peeve for people who don’t do things by the book. I like you fine, it’s just your alter-ego that annoys the hell out of me.” The elevator opened, and Fury stepped in. “And no one’s in trouble. Despite what you may think, I’m not the cold-hearted bastard people see me as. I’m here to look out for the Avengers, not undermine them.” He pressed a button in the elevator, but just as the doors began to close, he sighed and blocked them with his hand, holding them open as he looked at Peter. “I’m sorry about your Aunt.”

Peter felt his blood run cold.

“I heard what happened. I’m sure she was a good person.”

“The best,” Peter said quietly.

Fury nodded, clearing his throat. “It’ll get easier. It always does.”

The elevator doors slid closed silently.

* * *

Sneaking into Tony’s lab when the man was supposed to be trusting him to stay out of trouble was probably not the smartest move on Peter’s part, but he had to make use of Friday’s being disabled whilst he had the chance.

Thankfully, Peter knew the passcode to enter after seeing Mr. Stark type it in so many times, and he got inside without hassle.

Switching the lights on, Peter walked over to Mr. Stark’s computer, sitting down and tapping on the space bar, watching the screen light up. He swore, tapping the desk, irritated. It was password protected, which Peter should have been able to guess would be the case. He looked fruitlessly at the garbage scattered all over the desk, hoping there might be some indication of what the password might be to no avail. Peter placed his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands, sighing.

Tony and the others were still trying to hide what had happened to May from him. They refused to tell him who the dead man had been with her, where she had been the past weeks, how close they were to finding anything out.

It was driving him crazy.

He had hoped that Tony’s computer would have any kind of information that he could use to find out the truth, but that was pointless if he couldn’t even unlock it. Just as he was considering facetiming Ned for help hacking in, the door to the lab swung open, revealing none other than a very angry looking Tony Stark.

“So,” the man said, trying to keep his voice casual. “Are you going to explain to me why the  _ hell  _ I got a notification saying that Friday had been disabled, why Nick fucking Fury was up my ass about a mission that he didn’t authorize, and  _ why  _ I had to come in here to find you messing with my computer unsupervised?”

Peter opened his mouth a few times, struggling to think of what to say. “I… I didn’t break Friday.” He swallowed. “Director Fury said there was a power cut or something and she didn’t turn back on.”

“I see,” Mr. Stark said, walking forward a few steps. “And what exactly did  _ you  _ tell  _ Director Fury _ ?”

“Nothing!” Peter protested, before sinking down in the chair slightly. “I just- he asked where you were, and I told him you said you were on a mission in Canada. I didn’t want to lie when he already doesn’t like me.”

Tony stalked forward and pulled Peter out of the chair, shaking him slightly. “Damnit, Peter, I said we  _ weren’t  _ on a mission! If you  _ have _ to know, we were talking to some people who might have had leads on May. But because of the security alert I got, we were distracted and they got away. What was that security alert, do you think?”

Peter shuffled awkwardly. “Me being in your lab withou-”

“ _ You  _ being in my lab without permission, that’s right,” Tony interrupted. Peter hadn’t seen Mr. Stark this angry since the ferry incident all those months ago, and if he was being honest with himself, it scared him. “I mean,  _ Jesus  _ Peter! You don’t think! It’s like you don’t even care if you screw things up, like you don’t even care if you make things harder for everyone!”

Scowling, Peter felt anger rise in his chest. He balled his hands into fists. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you.”

Tony scoffed, shaking his head at Peter. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn this on me. This is about you  _ screwing up  _ and refusing to take responsibility!”

“When did I screw up?” Peter shouted, his emotions finally getting the better of him. “Was it when the Vulture guy dropped a building on me? Was it when you took away the suit,  _ causing  _ the Vulture guy to drop the building on me? Was it when my Aunt was fucking murdered and you all are acting like it just never happened? Was that when I  _ screwed up _ ?”

“I  _ just  _ told you that we’ve been investigating her death! And how are you thanking us? By snooping around in  _ my  _ lab that I  _ graciously  _ gave you access to because I  _ trusted  _ you, Peter! I _trusted_ you and you let me down. Again.”

“What the hell do you mean  _ again _ ?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Peter scowled at Tony. “He shouldn’t have been there! It wasn’t his apartment!”

“So you ripped out his  _ teeth _ ?” Tony asked in furious disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You didn’t mean to,” Tony repeated slowly.

Peter grit his teeth. “I just want people to stop lying to me,” he choked out, throat closing up as tears prickled his eyes. He refused to let them fall.

“And I just want you to stop acting like this!” Tony shouted. “We are trying to protect you! Do you not understand that? How is it our fault that you won’t let us help you?”

“You can help me by not  _ hiding _ things from me!” Peter shouted back, unintentionally raising his voice a few octaves. “Why won’t you tell me what happened to May? It’s not  _ fucking  _ fair!” The first tear rolled down his cheek and was quickly followed by another, then another. “I just want to know what’s going on! It’s  _ my  _ life. Not yours. You don’t get to keep my own life from me!”

“Actually, I do,” Tony said, glaring at Peter. “Like it or not, kiddo, but I’m your guardian now. You’re my responsibility, and like  _ fuck  _ am I letting you get involved in shit that doesn’t concern you.”

“It  _ does _ concern me!” Peter yelled. “My Aunt was fucking murdered! On my-  _ fucking _ \-  _ watch _ !” He punctuated every word with a sharp kick to the desk next to him, wrenching out of Tony’s grasp as the man tried to restrain him, guilt siding with the anger as he saw his worried eyes. “Fuck this,” he muttered, walking out of the lab without another word.

Tony didn’t even try to follow him.

* * *

Tears were streaking down Peter’s cheeks as he swung through the streets of New York, the cool October air pushing against his body, only making him more determined to carry on forwards. His breathing was still erratic from the fight he’d had with Mr. Stark, and after unsuccessfully trying to steady it, he’d simply pulled on his suit and jumped from his bedroom window. It was easier than dealing with his emotions, Peter had found.

“Incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen suddenly spoke, shocking Peter out of his brooding stupor.

“Decline,” he said bluntly. “And block any other calls.”

Karen didn’t reply. Peter knew that she hadn’t been too happy with him lately, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d been burning bridges left and right but it didn’t exactly  _ matter _ . Nothing  _ mattered  _ anymore. 

“Peter, there appears to be a drug deal gone wrong two blocks from here. It appears that there are two individuals in need of immediate medical attention.”

“On it,” Peter said, changing course to head towards the location Karen had pointed out to him. He silently dropped to the ground, walking slowly towards an alleyway where several shouts were coming from. Checking his webshooters, Peter took a deep breath before rushing around the corner, using his webs to boost himself into the air as he drove his feet into someone’s- he couldn’t see who- neck. They flew backward, back slamming into the brick wall at the end of the alley, crumpling to the ground. Blood pooled around them.

Peter froze, staring at the body. “Karen?” He asked shakily, blocking a punch heading towards his face and maneuvering the arm behind the perpetrator’s back, throwing them against the wall and webbing them up.

“He appears to have several broken ribs and a concussion, but he shouldn’t suffer any long-term ill effects.”

“Thank god,” he muttered, sweeping the legs out from beneath someone charging towards him and secured him to the ground with his webs. Peter sniffed, tears having since subsided, but still waiting for a chance to pour again.

His spidey-sense prickled and Peter whirled around, grabbing the wrist of the man behind him, forcing his arm upwards to that the gun in the man’s hand shot a wall instead of Peter. He wrenched the gun out of his hand and backhanded him with it, feeling the man’s cheekbone crack under the blunt force. He fell to the ground and Peter aimed his webshooters at him before stopping.

Peter only hesitated for a second before reaching down and grabbing the man’s hair, delivering a hard punch to his face, and then another, over and over again, until the man was unconscious.

He straightened up, looking around at the four men he’d stopped. Two unconscious and two webbed up was good enough, Peter reckoned.

“Can you call the police please, Karen?” He asked, dropping the gun to the ground.

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, K.”

Peter lifted himself up on top of the tallest building he could see and ripped his mask off, throwing it as far as he could without it falling off the roof. He sunk to his knees, gripping his hair and pulling, trying to distract himself from the insurmountable pain trying to choke him into submission. Exhaling shakily, Peter pulled his gloves off, flexing his fingers, wincing at the blood and bruises littering his knuckles. The cuts weren’t as bad as when he’d repeatedly driven his fist into a wall, but they were painful nonetheless.

The anger he’d felt in Mr. Stark’s lab was gradually dissipating and Peter found himself full of shame at how he’d acted. He rubbed his knuckles, struggling to think of ways in which he could make it up to the man.

But as he thought about May’s limp body lying in front of him, blood running from her corpse, determination flooded his body.

He would find out what happened to her, regardless of the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coolio


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter struggle to get over the bump in their relationship, and Peter has a heart to heart with Ned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f

Tony was waiting for him when Peter crawled back through his bedroom window the next morning.

“Hey, bud,” he said, folding his arms, frowning. “In a little late, don't you think?”

Peter scowled, rolling his eyes, as he grabbed a sweater and jeans that were laying on his bed and went into the bathroom to change, shutting the door firmly behind him. He could hear Tony approaching, stopping just outside the door.

“You can’t just leave like that, Peter.”

Pulling the sweater over his head, Peter rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to give Tony the satisfaction of responding.

“I was worried, kid. You were gone all night. You can’t do that.”

Scoffing, Peter zipped up his jeans before pulling the bathroom door open. He stalked past Tony without so much as a glance and sat at his desk, staring blankly at the half-finished essay in front of him.

“Really?” Tony crossed the room and stood beside Peter, moving the essay out of his eyeline. “The silent treatment? Is that really how you wanna play this?” He shook his head, laughing coldly. “No, you know what, you don’t wanna talk? Fine. I won’t talk either.” Tony marched across the room and harshly pulled it open. “Let me know when you want to act like an adult for once.”

The door slammed shut, and Peter sat still at his desk, counting to one-hundred, before slamming the palm of his hand against the edge of the desk, repeating the action until he was worried he’d break the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands, sighing deeply. “Fuck.”

* * *

“Hey, kid,” Rhodey said as Peter made his way into the common room a few hours later. “Just in time for lunch. Come and sit down.”

Peter stared at the Avengers all sitting around the dining table, all pointedly looking away from him. All except Natasha, at least, who was frowning at him in a way that could only be described as pitiful. “No thanks,” he muttered, turning back around and beginning to walk out of the room until a loud bang drew his attention back to the table.

“Peter, sit down,” Steve instructed, pointing at the empty chair in between Wanda and Scott with his fork. Scowling, Peter complied. “This has gone on for too long,” he said, placing a sandwich on Peter’s plate, unprompted. “We need to nip this in the bud before it goes too far.”

“Before  _ what  _ gets too far?” Peter asked, affronted. He didn’t touch the sandwich.

“Oh, so you’ll talk to Rogers, but not me, huh? I see how it is.”

“I thought you weren’t going to talk to me,” Peter snapped back, glaring at Tony who still refused to look at him.

“Before  _ this  _ gets too far,” Sam said irritatedly. “We’re tired of having to fucking mediate the two of you.”

Peter scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. “I didn’t even fucking do anything,” he muttered, tapping the floor with his foot.

He heard Tony throw his cutlery down on his plate. “See kid, that’s your problem right there. You  _ refuse  _ to accept when you’re the one at fault, you  _ refuse  _ to accept that you might be the reason everything keeps going to shit.”

“Tony, that isn’t helping,” Pepper murmured, placing a hand on his arm.

“No, I don’t care.” Peter balled his fists together. “Go ahead. Tell me  _ everything  _ that you think I’ve done wrong.”

“Stark,” Natasha warned, “don’t.”

Tony finally looked at Peter, eyebrows creasing as he stared at the boy. He sighed, shaking his head slowly. “I have work to do.”

Peter opened his mouth, watching as Tony got up from the table and left the room, put off by the man’s dismissive behavior. He swallowed thickly, running a hand over the back of his head, tugging on the short strands anxiously. Inhaling deeply, Peter felt a tear run down his cheek and he harshly rubbed at his face, sniffing.

“Kid,” he heard Clint say softly, but he only shook his head, peering through his fingers at the table in front of him.

Wanda pushed his plate closer to him. “Eat,” she instructed, and Peter glanced at her before sighing and picking up his sandwich with trembling fingers.

He took a bite.

* * *

“He hates me.”

“No he doesn’t, man,” Ned told him immediately as he and Peter walked along the endless streets to Ned’s house, sharing a packet of Starbursts between them. “The guy literally  _ adopted  _ you. I’m pretty sure that makes him literally incapable of hating you.”

Peter rolled his eyes, struggling to remove the fiddly wrapper of the candy between his fingers. “Mr. Stark didn’t adopt me, Ned.”

“He basically did,” Ned said, taking the candy out of Peter’s hands, unwrapping it, before handing it back to him. “God.” He put his own sweet in his mouth, chewing and swallowing it too quickly, making Peter thump Ned’s back as he choked. “Imagine Iron Man being your dad. You’re so lucky, dude.”

“He’s not my dad!” Peter protested loudly, shaking his head as Ned offered him another sweet. “And you didn’t see Mr. Stark. He was so mad at me.”

“Doesn’t mean he hates you.”

Peter stopped walking, Ned stopping beside him. “I hurt somebody,” he said quietly, not looking Ned in the eyes. “I hurt him bad.”

“Spider-Man stuff?” Ned asked, looking concerned as he stared at his friend.

Peter shrugged.

“It wasn’t your fault then,” Ned said, obviously relieved. “I mean, come on, you were bound to hurt a criminal at some point, you can’t keep this pacifist stuff up forever and expect to not, like,  _ die _ .”

Ned moved to carry on walking, but Peter didn’t move. Ned turned so that the two boys were standing face to face.

“He wasn’t a criminal.”

Frowning, Ned opened his mouth, but Peter continued speaking before Ned could get his first word out.

“He was in May’s apartment. I-” Peter swallowed thickly- “I’d climbed in through the window, and he was just… sitting in the lounge, like with alcohol and stuff, he was homeless, I think. I just got so  _ angry  _ that he was there in May’s home, and there was puke on the wall, and then he just carried on drinking even when he  _ knew  _ I was there, so I, like, pulled the bottle out his mouth and it knocked out his teeth, and then he was bleeding, and there was so much  _ blood _ -”

And suddenly Peter wasn’t talking to his best friend, he wasn’t talking about the homeless man just looking for warmth, he wasn’t standing on the sidewalk anymore. He was crouched next to May, kneeling in a pool of her blood, holding her limp hand as somebody tried to pull him away from her, staring at the bullet hole that was oozing blood in her stomach. Blood coated his hands, staining his knuckles, gathering under his nails, and the more he rubbed at his hands the more the blood seemed to stain them.

Someone was shaking him, fingers gripped into his shoulders, and he could feel breath tickling his face, making his nose scrunch up in discomfort. There was a roaring in his ears, and his vision was blurred, making it impossible for him to distinguish between the various blobs in front of him.

“-eter!”

He blinked, mind seeming to work slower than his senses. It was all suddenly too bright, too loud, just too much  _ input _ , and he keened, pained, raising his hands to cover his eyes, curling forward until his forehead touched his knees.

“Friday lights down by 60%!”

Shock burned Peter’s insides, confusion settling in his stomach. Struggling to wrap his head around the various things demanding his attention, gentle hands wrapping against his wrists and tugging his hands away from his face finally managed to pull him closer to reality.

“Peter, it’s October 17th. You’re in the Common Room at the Tower. You’re safe. I brought you here a few minutes ago. You’re okay.”

Gradually, Peter felt his heart rate begin to steady, his breathing evening out. He raised his eyes to see Tony sitting in front of him, one hand cradling the back of Peter’s head, eyes filled with worry.

Peter’s face crumpled, and a wrecked sob escaped his throat as he buried his face into Tony’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he cried, gripping the man with enough force that he was worried he might hurt him. “I’m so f- _ fucking  _ sorry.”

“Oh, kiddie,” he heard Tony whisper brokenly, pulling Peter closer to him so he was practically curled on Tony’s lap. “It’s okay, you’re fine, I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

Shaking his head, Peter pulled away from Tony, sniffing, wiping his face with his palm, before freezing, horrified by the physical blood staining his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Tony grabbed his hands and pulled them out of the boy’s eyesight. “You were scratching your hands and you ended up cutting them with your nails. Nothing that old Brucie can’t patch up.”

Peter stared at him doubtfully, before leaning back against him, exhausted, not protesting as Tony picked him up and carried him all the way to the Med Bay.

“Where’s Ned?” He asked as Tony approached him with a warm flannel and began wiping at Peter’s face, presumably cleaning the blood Peter had accidentally smeared all over himself- and Tony’s shirt.

“He’s fine,” Tony said calmly, brushing Peter’s fringe out of his face so he could clean the blood situated on his forehead. “I told him I’d get you home and let you call him when you’re ready.”

Peter squirmed, trying to bat Tony’s hand away as the man gently wiped his eye with the flannel. “Is he mad at me?”

“Of course not,” Tony reassured him softly. The door swung open, and a very tired-looking Bruce Banner walked in, smiling at the pair, grabbing a few basic first-aid supplies.

“Heard you got in a spot of trouble, Pete,” he said, walking over and peering at Peter’s hands.

Tony got up, dropping the flannel in the sink. “When isn’t he in a spot of trouble?”

Peter didn’t listen as the two scientists began discussing Bruce’s latest project, instead just staring at nothing whilst Bruce cleaned his hands.

It didn’t take too long, the cuts being fairly shallow, and soon enough Tony was leading Peter out of the Med Bay and into the Lab. “Sit down,” he instructed, and Peter did as he was told, sitting gingerly on the edge of the chair Tony had pointed at. Mr. Stark walked towards him and dropped a tablet on the desk in front of Peter, taking a seat opposite the boy and fixing him with a serious look. “I need to know that you understand why I’m about to do this.”

Peter blinked, rubbing the bandage covering his fist. “You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

Tony barked out a laugh, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. “Jesus, kid.” He rolled his eyes, before sobering again. “No, I’m not going to murder you. I’m going to fill you in on what we know about your Aunt.” Peter perked up, eyes widening, but Tony held a finger up, silencing him before he could speak. “Nuh-uh. I’m not done. Your behavior these past few days has been unacceptable.” Peter flushed, looking away and picking at the skin around his fingers. “This is absolutely not going to be the usual around here, you understand me? You acting out and then getting what you want. You are  _ so  _ grounded, and I’m still very pissed at your behavior, so I’m taking away the suit for a month.”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter gasped, neck getting whiplash because of how fast he jerked his head up.

Tony’s serious demeanor didn’t shift. “That being said,” he sighed, “some, and I mean  _ some  _ of the points you have raised haven’t been  _ completely  _ off base, and it’s given me a lot of things reflect on, like how I’ve been cutting you out of things that, as you correctly identified, do in fact involve you, so here.” He slid the tablet towards Peter, tapping on it several times until a video appeared on the screen.

Peter picked it up carefully, frowning at the screen as he watched three men drag a semi-conscious woman into a large, black van, slamming the doors shut before speeding off into the distance. He rewound the video, zooming in on the woman, before dropping the tablet in shock. It clattered to the floor, and Peter stared, aghast, at Tony, who was looking at him with a sad expression on his face.

“I know,” Tony said gently, reaching down and picking up the tablet, swiping to another video.

Hands shaking slightly, Peter took the tablet and pressed play.

He watched in horror as his Aunt was dragged to the middle of the conference room on floor 86. He watched as Natasha grabbed a pistol out of seemingly nowhere and aimed it at the intruder. He watched May sob openly as a gun was pressed to her back, and Peter was beyond grateful that there was no audio.

He watched Tony and Bruce sprint into the room, each holding their hands up placatingly. He watched Pepper follow moments later, her mouth opening widely, and Peter remembered the scream he had heard that night, now aware of the source. Despite the nausea filling his stomach, Peter was grateful that the scream hadn’t come from his Aunt.

His vision blurred as he saw the rest of the Avengers flood into the conference room, and he felt his throat close up as he watched the intruder fire three quick shots into his Aunt’s chest, raising the pistol under his chin and firing one final shot into his head before any of the others had any time to react.

There was a loud roaring noise in his ears, and Peter felt himself sway slightly on the chair he was sitting on. Hands were gripping his shoulders, and Peter shakily reached forward to grab onto the closest thing he could reach, which turned out to be Tony’s shirt.

“Peter.” He could hear Tony speaking, and he closed his eyes, leaning his body against Tony’s chest. The man wrapped his arms around Peter’s small frame and pressed a soft kiss into his hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t show you sooner.”

Peter sniffed, opening his eyes and leaning out of Tony’s hold, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “What now?” He asked hoarsely, voice shaking as his eyes kept flickering back to the tablet resting on the desk.

Tony slid it out of view. “We don’t know,” he said carefully. “To tell you the truth, we’ve kind of hit a dead end. We haven’t made any progress in days.”

“So… what?” Peter frowned at Tony. “You’re just going to give up?”

“Of course not!” Tony shook his head. “We’re not giving up. But, kid, this isn’t the only thing we’re dealing with at the moment. The Sokovia Accords are still being rewritten, and there isn’t much we can do beyond research until that’s dealt with.”

“So May isn’t a priority?”

“That’s not what I-”

“ _ I’m  _ not a priority?”

“Kid,” Tony said sternly. “Stop twisting my words. Of  _ course  _ you’re a priority. You’re always going to be number one on my priorities list. Which is why I don’t want to do anything that could risk getting us or you in any more danger than necessary right now. If we don’t play this right then we could lose all the progress we’ve made, not only with the Accords but with May’s investigation. Do you really want Secretary Ross or SHIELD taking over and making this case government intelligence?”

Peter sighed, looking away from Tony. “No,” he muttered.

“Exactly.” Tony stood up, pulling Peter out of his chair as well. He began leading the pair of them out of the lab. “I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone here.”

“Wait, is that it?” Peter asked, turning his head to look behind them. “That’s all you have? After  _ weeks _ ?”

“I told you, we’re taking it slow.”

“So slow you only bothered to check a few cameras?”

“Peter,” Tony warned.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Peter resigned, unable to shake the feeling that, despite everything Mr. Stark had said, he was still being lied to.

He let Tony guide them to the Common Room where most of the Avengers were gathered, bar Bruce, Scott, and Natasha.

“You two kissed and made up yet?” Sam called out, dropping his game controller onto the coffee table, scowling at Clint who had just beat him in Mario Kart again.

“Sure have,” Tony said, slapping Peter’s back and going to sit beside Rhodey. “Petey-Pie’s grounded, so no spider-ing up the place for the time being, but yeah. We hashed it out.”

“That’s great.” Steve grinned at Peter encouragingly. “Maybe we can have a few gym sessions with Nat so you don’t get out of practice.”

Peter nodded, standing awkwardly to the side for a few seconds until Wanda smiled at him and patted the seat next to her. He smiled back gratefully, sitting down on the sofa, and glanced at Wanda’s phone. She was scrolling through Taylor Swift’s Instagram, liking a post every now and then, popping grapes into her mouth as she did so.

Wanda glanced over at him. “She’s trending.”

Peter nodded slowly. “Cool,” he said, pulling out his own cell phone and staring at the multiple unanswered texts he had from Ned. He sighed, but before he could tap on one of the notifications to respond, a message caught his attention.

**[Unknown Number]**

**Tomorrow. 11pm. Behind Paul’s Pizza Plaza.**

He tilted the screen away from Wanda, frowning at the message.

**[Peter Parker]**

**who is this??**

Three small dots appeared in the corner of his screen, disappeared, and then appeared again.

**[Unknown Number]**

**Tomorrow. 11pm. Behind Paul’s Pizza Plaza.**

The dots reappeared a third time.

**[Unknown Number]**

**Don’t be late.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, who said anything about a frequent updating schedule? me? that doesn't sound like something id say.
> 
> fun little tidbit, my parents want me to stop taking my antidepressants, whereas my doctor want to increase the dosage, so i don't know what going on in my life anymore.
> 
> also: working on a new fic that i should have up before the end of february! ill have more info in the next update, but keep your eyes peeled! :)


End file.
